The Fly-infested ruins-city of skelleth.
The tavern. simple called "Drinks"
The half-Orc galt, sat in a chair, his feet on a table, a mug of ale in his hand.
He was waiting for the 'Forgotten king'.
His sword laying upon the table, it's malevolent presence projecting itself into Galt's head, it was becoming an annoying nuisance.
Most of the human occupants had edged away from the half-orc.
Since the racial war's, the once great outpost of skelleth had been a stronghold of great magnitude, to keep out the half-orcs.
But now it was a pile of dung, not even worth attacking.
He took another sip of ale.
The barkeep had tried to con him with watered-down ale. Easy to forgive him, even with the sword, attempting to twist his mind, to make him kill the scum that had attempted to scam him.
A couple of prophets, had foretold him, to gain his immortality, he would have to find this "Forgotten king" or someone who knew him.
He placed the iron mug down with a clang, resulting in many heads turning his way. a slight showing of his elongated lower canine teeth sent them right on turning.
He was still waiting.